Hunting Party
by CaddySam
Summary: Let it not be said that predators of different regions cannot hunt in the same one. Dexter, the one born in blood. Hannibal, the other with peculiar tastes. Though different, both are a kin to darkness. Will these two iconic killers resolve to keep themselves hidden or will they simply kill each other?
1. Introduction

Miami, April 13

It was a typical day in Miami for Dexter Morgan. Dead body, weeping bystanders, blood everywhere; it was home. Crouching low over the poor gutless girl, Dexter expertly identified the initial entry wound that killed her. Her entrails had been removed post-mortem, the darkened blood pooled in her abdomen told that much.

_Blood always tells_, Dexter thought gleefully. It was a complicated love he had for blood. He had been born in it. No one else knew of his past but Harry, and even then, he didn't fully understand Dexter's darkness.

A weeping girl interrupted Dexter's thoughts. She flung herself towards the corpse, wailing the name of the victim. Two local policemen grabbed her by the arms and dragged her back towards the tape. Dexter was jostled forward, nearly planting a hand on the dead girl's face, by the clumsy local authority. Regaining his balance quickly, he shot a cold glance over his shoulder.

"Get behind the line, folks," Angel Batista's voice sounded authoritatively from behind Dexter's shoulder. Thankful for the breathing room, he continued analyzing. "What do we got, guys?" Angel was standing in front of Dexter on the other side of the body, talking to Vince Masuka, the other blood spatter analyst.

"Victim's entrails were removed post-mortem. Entry wound near the navel, which also happened to have the sweetest little belly button ring…" Masuka trailed off. He held up a tiny gold ring and studied it in the light.

"Alright, Vince," Angel growled, "Focus."

"Sorry, sorry," he apologized before continuing. "Entry wound likely killed the victim. Strangulation is also evident in the reddening of the neck tissue." He pointed to the girl's neck to make his point. "This poor, _attractive_ girl was strangled then gutted like a pig…"

Batista looked green. "Thoughts, Dexter?"

Dexter perked up, totally unaffected by the unusual carnage. "I can back up everything Vince said. Victim was likely strangled using a wound up cloth, or rope." Dexter looked on. "Oh, and most likely from behind," he noted, quickly. Dexter studied the girl's abdomen. This wasn't anything Dexter hadn't seen before, but there was something odd about the kill.

Whoever killed this girl, took the guts with them.

_Now why would you do that…?_

Baltimore, April 10

Sunlight poured through the red and white curtains of Hannibal Lecter's office, casting the room in a golden hue. It was mid-afternoon, and a fairly slow day. Hannibal had only three appointments booked, and he was certain his 4 o'clock would cancel. He wondered briefly if Will Graham would stop by his office later that evening, as he often did.

It had only been two weeks since they had first been introduced. Will was impeccably perceptive, and had a profound sense of empathy. His high powered senses were nothing compared to Hannibal's, for Will was just the young buck who had already proven to be mentally precarious.

Sighing, Hannibal looked at his father's pocket watch, tracing his slender finger along its face. Ever since developing his practice in Baltimore, Hannibal had led a carefully constructed, mundane life as a psychiatrist. His human veil kept him hidden in plain sight. No one truly knew who Hannibal was, and no one would ever find out. No one would ever discover all the skeletons he had packed in his closet or his need to eat unconventional food stuffs. Not even Will suspected anything of him.

Content, Hannibal shifted back and leaned deeply into his chair. Just as he closed his eyes, a soft rapping came from the other side of the heavy pine door. Though it was nearly four thirty, Hannibal was not expecting anyone. Curious, he rose grudgingly from his chair, and smoothed his hair before opening the door for his unexpected guest.

Of all people, it was Jack Crawford who stood in Hannibal's doorway.

"Good evening, Dr. Lecter," he said pleasantly enough, "I hope I'm not interrupting anything?"

Hannibal hid his scowl with a contrived smile. In all honesty, he disliked Jack, to say the least. He found him annoying, the way he ordered Will around like an insolent child and distressed his mental state. As much as Hannibal worried for Will, it was mostly out of contempt for Detective Crawford.

"Not at all, Jack. Please, come in." With the wave of a hand, Hannibal beckoned Crawford in. as Jack walked by, a nauseating wave of cheap cologne assaulted Hannibal's elite sense of smell. It took all the strength he had not to grimace against the odor. "And to what do I owe the pleasure, Jack?"

"Well, actually, Dr. Lecter," he began, a broad smile on his face, "I wanted to ask you on your opinion of Miami, Florida."

Hannibal was unable to hide his surprise. A frown crossed his face. "Jack… Eh…? I don't…" the normally graceful psychiatrist stammered.

"Well, Dr. Lecter, I've just had the opportunity to send a few of my colleagues down to Miami Metro Police Department…." He trailed off deliberately. Hannibal's eyebrows raised in interest, urging him to continue. "And I am going to send Will Graham down with them."

Immediately, Hannibal bristled with anger. "And you think this is a good idea?" The psychiatrist couldn't help but show the contempt in his voice. How dare Jack Crawford come here, in Hannibal's own office, and send Will off to another state without first consulting him?

This was dangerous ground Jack was tracking on.

Fortunately for both men, Jack's cellphone rang. He let it ring once or twice before answering it, all while smiling proudly at Hannibal. Hannibal motioned towards the waiting room door, dismissing Jack. After he left, Hannibal leaned against the door, his hands clenched tightly in fists. Jack Crawford was a fine behavioural scientist, that much Hannibal could admit, but his over-inflating ego often got in the way of his charm.

Rolling his eyes, Hannibal trudged over to his desk.

"Miami, Florida…" he mused. "I wonder what's so interesting over there?"


	2. Chapter 2

Dexter

Dexter stroked the long steel blade lovingly, running his finger slowly along the blade's edge. It wouldn't be long now until his newest victim awoke covered in plastic wrap.

As if on cue, a low whimpering sound emanated from the table behind Dexter. Smiling naturally at the sound of justice about to be served, Dexter wheeled around dramatically, spreading his arms wide with the blade in his hand.

"Mr…" Dexter pulled a psych profile sheet of his victim, briefly forgetting the man's name. _Well, that dramatic entrance is ruined_, Dexter laughed to himself. "Connors… Three counts of sexual assault against the same woman… Who I believe was your ex-wife, am I right?" Dexter grabbed the man's chin suddenly, making him gasp beneath the duct tape pressed against his moustache. He yanked the man's chin forward to look at the picture of Mrs. Connors hanging on the wall. "You also killed her, didn't you?" The man whimpered again, red face glistening with guilty sweat. Dexter loved it when they got nervous; everyone was always so truthful when they know they're about to die. "Then, you just slipped through the cracks… like water through stones… That's where I caught you, wasn't it?" Dexter growled intimidatingly. "Down by the water where you dumped her body."

Another whimper was all he needed. The blade glinted in the tepid light. Inhaling deeply, Dexter raised the knife, grasping its handle with both hands.

This was his favourite part of every kill. He reveled in it for several seconds, letting it calm him before the surge of the downward, killing stroke.

_Bring! Bring!_

"Uuugh…" Dexter's phone rang just as he was about to bring the blade down. _Why does this always happen at _this_ particular moment? _ Placing the knife on Connors' stomach, Dexter answered the belligerent phone.

"Dexter Morgan."

"DEX!" His adopted sister's voice echoed through the kill room. Yanking the phone from his ear momentarily Dexter flinched at Debra's intensity. Something must be going on.

"Hey, Deb, what's up?"

"What are you doing? Get your butt over to the office, now," Debra sounded urgent, but excited. "We're getting new guys!"

Dexter was puzzled. "What, wait, what do you mean "new guys"?"

"I _mean_, we're supposedly getting new people. I'll tell you everything I know when you get here. _Now fucking get over here_!" She hung up hastily. Dexter could only wonder as to what was happening, or about to happen, at Miami Metro. He pondered deeply as he walked back over to the table.

"Well, that's all the time I have for tonight," he said to his victim, who looked up at him with meek hope. "Oh no, I have time for you." In a quick, practiced movement, he expertly punctured the heart of the scum on his table. _The slice o' life…_

When Dexter arrived at Miami Metro, it was nearly 8 o'clock. Debra excitedly met him at the elevator door. She yanked him out, jostling him forward towards the homicide crew of Batista, Masuka, Doakes and LaGuerta. They were already murmuring amongst each other excitedly.

"Hey, Dex," Angel greeted him, "glad you're here. You deserve to know just as much as everyone else on this crew."

Dexter looked at him confusedly. He would like someone to just be out with what was so interesting. _All this banter is making my nose itch_, he thought irritably. "Know what, guys?"

They all just looked at each other, smiling. Even the ever-grumpy Doakes looked relatively happy.

"_What_, guys?" Dexter was getting increasingly annoyed, and a little bit paranoid. He had just come back from a kill; were they onto him?

"So… As some of you know," Maria LaGuerta began, "I haven't been in the office for a few days now. I have been away arranging some…arrangements." She glanced around, making sure everyone was listening, none of them more so than Dexter. "Matthews and I have come to an agreement that it might be beneficial to this floor to have a new perspective on things. Meaning, I've arranged to have a few members of a homicide crew from Maryland down to Miami for three weeks."

Everyone gasped in unison. Dexter managed a stifled and awkward one just in time.

"New guys?"

"Fresh meat!"

"Holy fuck nuggets!"

"When are they coming down?"

LaGuerta held up her hands for order. "Now, I haven't got all the details, but we're supposed to get maybe four or five. I don't know who they are. I've only talked to their superior on the phone. He thinks it will be good for them to experience some, uh, _new_ _places_." After the air quotes were passed, everyone chattered together, everyone but Dexter. He was trying to absorb what was so exciting about having new people in homicide if they wouldn't be staying for any significant amount of time. These people already meant nothing to him.

"They should be here in the next 48 hours."

The phone in LaGuerta's office, echoing through the empty homicide office. She left everyone to stew as she went to answer it. Dexter watched her, loftily reading her face as she spoke out of earshot. He didn't care for everyone else's banter and bickering. If he was coming off as aloof, he would just play it off as exhaustion. LaGuerta's face contorted into a look of shock, then confusion, and then understanding.

_What's going on in there? _Dexter thought nosily. _Must be regarding our new boys…_

LaGuerta re-appeared just as Debra clamped a heavy hand down on his shoulder. She shook it as Maria addressed everyone again. "That was Detective Crawford on the phone…"

Everyone was on their toes.

"Apparently they're only sending two."

Hannibal

Hannibal gathered his papers, organizing them immaculately before he locked up for the evening. His mind was still reeling, thinking about what it was that the godforsaken city of Miami could offer Will Graham. Will hated leaving his home, and often never ventured further than Virginia. Will, under any circumstances, would only agree to go if Jack threatened his job, and even then, he would be grudgingly reluctant.

Hannibal sighed deeply as he opened the dark wooden door, musing at how ludicrous a normal person could be. The waiting room was not empty as he expected. Instead, Will Graham sat in the corner chair, furthest from the office door. Hannibal could not conceal his surprise as he felt his eyebrows jump towards his hairline. "Will. Good evening."

Will only nodded, regarding Hannibal with gloomy aloofness.

Hannibal frowned. "Is there something I can help you with, Will?" He could see that the empathetic agent was depressed about something, that much was obvious by his posture.

After a few moments, Will spoke quietly. "I'm sorry I shouldn't have come so late. You're on your way home."

"It's perfectly fine, Will. Always here to help a friend." The word 'friend' still felt unnatural to Hannibal. The extraordinarily rare time he did get close to someone, they were always horrified at what was behind the human veil. Hannibal found it easier to feign friends in the light of appearing normal. "Please, come in."

Will leaned on the edge of Hannibal's desk, a gesture he would've bristled at if it had not been the intricate agent doing so. "So I guess you've probably heard by now what Jack plans on doing with me?" His voice was thick with worry.

"Yes… Jack came in here earlier, alluding that he was sending you to Florida with some other agents." Hannibal recounted the details of what Jack had told him. "Miami, if I'm not mistaken?"

Will nodded profusely, his curly hair bouncing against his forehead. "Yep, yep, only… Only… It's not with other agents. It's only me, now." He started to pace, his fingers twitching furiously. "And you."

Hannibal's frown deepened. He could feel his entire face creasing in disbelief. "What do you mean, Will?"

"Oh, Jack didn't tell you?" He feigned surprise, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "He wants you to go with me. It's a safety precaution, you know, in case I get a little _out of hand_." Will was getting increasingly agitated, as was Hannibal.

"He failed to…mention this to me earlier…" Hannibal's contempt for Crawford intensified. "Why on Earth would I go to Miami? Or you, for that matter?" He could not hide his distaste.

"He said that I need a change of pace, or something," Will tousled his hair, "I'm fine with it, I guess, I just need someone to look after the dogs…"

Hannibal smirked. What it was with people and animals, he would never know. "Have you no choice in the matter?" he inquired, hoping to get more information about his own situation.

"I don't think so. And I don't think you do either. Sorry, Dr. Lecter, but it looks like we're going to Miami. Tomorrow."

The psychiatrist gawped. He stammered, as rare as that was, and was stupefied. "I-I have appointments. And f-for three weeks? I-I…"

Will smirked. Apparently Lecter wasn't made of stone, not when such a surprise was slammed on him. He understood completely. After all, it was only that morning that Will had found out he was being shipped off to _Miami_ of all places. He didn't even like the beach. "Jack wants us to be on the 9 o'clock flight. Things have already been figured out financially. Apparently he and the _Miami_ _Metro _captain have been in contact for a while now…" He sighed, sinking into one of Lecter's plush red chairs. "Well. I'd better leave you to cancel your appointments for the next three weeks in a day. I gotta find someone to look after those dogs…" Will mumbled.

Hannibal was still standing there, still trying to absorb the fact that he had just been manipulated by Jack Crawford, without him even being here. "I'll get you for this, Jack Crawford…" Hannibal muttered under his breath, perhaps a little too loudly, for Will nodded in agreement.

"You and I both, Dr. Lecter…" Luckily, Will had no idea how much conviction Hannibal actually had in his threat. "Good night, Dr. Lecter. I'll see you at the airport at 5, I suppose. That's what the tickets say." Will handed Hannibal a plane ticket, a temporary Miami Metro Homicide badge, and a pamphlet with sandy beaches and smiling girls in bikinis holding vibrant drinks with little umbrellas.

This was humiliating…

Hannibal got to work as soon as Will left. He would deal with Jack Crawford sooner or later. For now, he had to assure that all of his appointments were cancelled or rescheduled. How long had Jack intended for this to happen? It was entirely inconvenient for Hannibal to leave, especially now, for there were so many things to do. He simply didn't have the time to spend frolicking about in Florida.

With another great sigh, all appointments for the next few days cancelled, Hannibal locked his office and left for home. He wondered if he even had any short sleeved shirts, or even _shorts_ for that matter. It wasn't as if he disliked the warm weather, it was simply that he didn't like the ultra-tourism that often swamped such places. _Especially_ Miami, Florida.

"Let us see what is so interesting then…" Hannibal mumbled to himself, glancing at the clock on the dashboard. "Five o'clock. Could be worse."


	3. Chapter 3

Dexter

Debra wouldn't stop nattering into the next morning. As soon as Dexter appeared in the elevator doorway, she yanked him out and continued blathering, continuing their – rather her – conversation earlier on the phone.

Sleep still weighed heavily on Dexter's eyelids. Disposing of last night's kill was tougher than usual. He had to return after the hasty meeting at Miami Metro in order to cut up the body. Being a hefty fellow, Mr. Connors needed two extra Glad bags, which were just as heavy as the other four. Dexter hadn't been sure if he should even bother with all the normal routine, if he should have just burnt down the warehouse. The easy way isn't always the right way, however. More attention directed even vaguely in his direction was attention he didn't need. So Dexter pulled an overnighter, and was paying for it with a dull headache and an overly-excited Debra gnawing at his ear.

"They're gonna get here in, like, four hours, Dex. Aren't you excited? Even a little?"

To quell Debra's unyielding thirst for conversation, Dexter managed a weary, "Of course I am, Deb."

Seemingly dissatisfied with his response, Debra looked sorely at him. "What's wrong, Dex?"

"Just tired, really. Super tired is all. I'm fine, Deb."

Debra only nodded, sensing Dexter's need to be alone, concealed in his office. With a nod of his head, he half-trudged, half-scrambled to his corner of darkness. Closing the blinds and door, he flung his bag aside, logging onto the World Wide Web. He opened a side window, and used it to quickly view LaGuerta's agenda for the day. Within minutes, he had begun his own personal profiling of the "new guys" coming in.

Apparently, both were highly qualified in their respective fields of teaching and psychiatry. The teacher had once been on the force, but was removed some years ago for reasons unstated. This Will Graham was nothing stellar, as far as Dexter could read. Perhaps he would be surprised by this _detective_ Graham. Dexter flicked idly across pages of Graham's lectures students had attended, all fawning over how brilliant he was or how cute his hair looked that day. Dexter couldn't help but smile at the simple-mindedness surrounding Will. It would take a fun few days if he turned out to be interesting.

Moving onto the psychiatrist, whom Dexter had hoped would be a little more interesting, simply was not. He owned his own practice in Baltimore, and offered your run-of-the-mill psychiatric help. He was an odd looking man, with some kind of Northern European slash mannequin looking face. He looked like the kind of person you would ask the time for and he'd pull out a pocket-watch; just that kind of unseeming, plain guy you see on the street and wonder how dull his life must be.

Dexter shut his laptop, idly drumming his fingers. _A teacher and a psychiatrist, what a strange duo_…

A strange duo indeed.

Hannibal

The plane smelt of acrid bleach. It or a space beside Hannibal had been recently, and poorly, scrubbed down prior to his and Will's arrival. Luckily, Jack had at least been a gentleman and sprung for first class, though it may as well have been economy, with the smells and sounds of a single spoilt child and a fretting mother.

Trying to distract himself, Hannibal turned to Will in the seat across the aisle from him. "Why is it that Jack has required you and I to go to Miami of all places?"

Will chuckled sleepily. "Maybe it's a _bonding _exercise. Maybe I have to _get to know you better_, Dr. Lecter." Will looked at Hannibal, who had just managed to suppress a small, unimpressed sneer. "I still don't know why we're here, Hannibal. I'm just as anxious as I imagine you are. But we're big boys; we don't need Jack's guidance when we're thousands of miles away from him. I was just told the same thing you were." He looked thoughtful. "What exactly _did_ he tell you?"

"He only said that you were going down, not I."

"Okay… that's definitely less than what he told me…" Will scoffed understandingly. "I guess I'll try to explain as best I can." He shifted around until he was facing Hannibal sidelong. He produced a folded piece of paper from his billfold. "That," he began, handing the letter to Hannibal, "is a psychological profile of Miami Metro's number one public enemy, currently."

Hannibal inspected the profile, taking in the details of the page.

"Anything else on this killer? From the looks of this, he doesn't exactly make for front page news. Especially not in a place like Miami."

"No, that's all there is. From what Jack passed onto me, he's pretty slippery. Just… dances away from their cuffs as soon as they catch wind of him."

Hannibal sensed a pain in Will's voice. "Reminiscent of a case closer to home?" he asked, referring to the recent case involving Garrett Jacob-Hobbs. Hannibal knew this got Will's blood boiling. Perhaps now Will would remember what a mistake he was making in being here, even if it wasn't up to him.

Will nodded briskly, shaking off the Jacob-Hobbs jitters. "Well, that's what we've been _sent_ to inform on. Let's just hope Miami has a little more to offer than churros and gun-violence."

Hannibal nodded in agreement. He settled back in his seat, fingering the chain of the old watch he kept in his vest pocket. In a few hours, they would be in the midst of an on-going investigation in someone else's territory. Hunting someone else's prey. The thought was titillating at the very least. It was now, as the plane began to descend, that Hannibal found a sense of morbid anticipation. That deep, animalistic part of him he had since suppressed since he was a young man began to stir teasingly, inviting him into a state of delicious predatory instincts. The thought of a hunt excited Hannibal, truthfully, and he could not wait to begin.

Will and Hannibal arrived in Miami, a light sweat already lining their brows. Will was the first to admit how much he missed the cooler spring of Virginia. The two arrived at their respective hotel rooms and bade their farewells in the stead of an afternoon nap. Soon, they would be at Miami Metro, meeting strange and new officers and specialists. Hannibal reprised his polite façade, as he often did before a dinner party or gathering to make certain nothing of his temper slipped up. Normally a docile man anyway, Hannibal did not want to take any chances. As much as he wanted to hunt purely for testing his surroundings, he would behave himself, for he had Will to look after here, too.

Once again, Hannibal found himself fretting over what he would wear to greet Miami's homicide department. Surely, it was too hot for his regular three-pieces, which were sewn in such a tight nit that Hannibal often got overheated in his own home. Causal dress came so easily to others. Hannibal wondered briefly what it was like to be so agonizingly plain inside; to not be excruciatingly brilliant and dapper at the same time.

Finally, he settled on a collared shirt, blazer and slacks, simply taking one of three out of the equation. Admiring his choice in the long mirror adjacent to the bed briefly, Hannibal got his things ready for the meeting about to take place at Miami Metro Homicide Department.

Dexter

As soon as Dexter heard the excited babbling at the _ding_ of the elevator, he knew that the new guys had arrived.

Dexter stood just outside his office like an eagle watching prey. He was never one to throw himself into festivities and preferred to watch, and so too did the psychiatrist, whom he located immediately. He was striking. Dexter would give him that. The way he carried himself seemed humble enough, but Dexter could tell there was much more beneath the surface. He could tell from the eyes; the black eyes of a shark, watching intently when nothing really needed to be watched. This shark was in a new tank, and he was agitated.

_This might be fun after all._

Dexter's thoughts were interrupted by LaGuerta. "Detective Graham and Doctor Lecter, welcome! I'm Maria LaGuerta. Come in, I'll show you—"

"I'll show you around, guys! Follow _me_." Debra pushed her way past LaGuerta and stood in front of the duo. Dexter saw her cheeks flush as she addressed the pair. "Uh… Let's go check out everyone's office. I know I don't see _everyone _present…" With this, she shot a glare back at Dexter, who raised his hands in a gesture of mock innocence. "Right this way, boys," she said gleefully, leading the way towards the coffee corner.

_And now, we wait_, Dexter thought excitedly. Truth be told, he actually couldn't wait to get a read on the new guys. Any outsiders who entered his domain were guilty-until-proven-innocent kind of thing with Dexter. If something was off, he would know. And already, Dexter felt ill at ease around that Detective; the way he looked nervously around, twitched his fingers, watched every movement like a neurotic cat. There was something off about him, same with the psychiatrist. Dexter just didn't know yet.

Eventually, the tour group made its way to Dexter's office. Debra did her hasty, four knock routine and entered regardless of invitation. "Dexter!" she shouted, shattering the moment of serenity he had sunk into.

"Debra!" the spatter analyst responded with equal enthusiasm. She walked in, leaving the guests trailing behind. Debra rested her hand on Dexter's shoulder and proudly announced, "And this is my nerdy big brother, Dexter Morgan. Dex, this is Will Graham." She introduced Dexter to the teacher-detective first. He rose to kindly shake the man's hand. Will took it with strength and smiled politely, though Dexter could tell he was nervous.

"Hello, Dexter," he began shakily. "Your sister has already told me a lot about you," he added uncertainly.

_I hope not too much_. "Ah, well, Deb's kind of like that. Lots to say about everyone's business but her own," Dexter teased.

Debra shot him a scornful sneer and continued introductions. "And this is Dr. Hannibal Lecter."

This man was more forth-coming than Will, more confident in his actions. "Hello, Mr. Morgan. It's a pleasure to meet you. What is it you do in here?"

"Oh please, just call me Dexter," Dexter replied, deliberately not answering the doctor's question.

"Dexter…" Hannibal considered for a moment. Dexter felt his name was too informal for this man's tongue. "What is it that you do?"

_He took out the 'in here', why? _"I'm a blood spatter analyst," Dexter replied curtly. "I 'read' the blood, you could say—"

"I know I could say you're a freak," Debra interjected playfully.

Will seemed like he was about to be sick. "Very… Pretty," he said, glancing at the prints around Dexter's office of particularly beautiful spatters. "So you can tell how a person was murdered from the look of the blood?" he asked skeptically. Dr. Lecter even raised his eyebrow in intrigue.

"Yep," Dexter replied awkwardly, trying to say things a normal person would say. He tried to think of something else to say. "Blood is like a book and I'm a regular Shakespeare!"

Debra's eyes rolled back into her skull and Will looked away uncomfortably. Hannibal was the only one to keep Dexter's audience. Dexter took a moment to study his eyes closer. Even this close, his brown eyes looked black as coals. And right now, they glittered. "Blood is like a book, you say?" the psychiatrist asked. He seemed to add telepathically, "What story does your blood tell of you, Dexter Morgan?"

Dexter's blood ran cold. _Man, this guy is strange... best keep a close eye on him._ "Yup…"

Of all people, it was Will who broke the silence. "Well, I think we should move along on our tour, Miss Morgan, if that's alright with you?"

Debra glared at Will, who seemed to shrink slightly. "Don't you dare call me Miss Morgan again. We're co-workers now, Mr. Graham. You call me Debra." Debra said this with mock anger, though she was smiling wickedly.

_Well, Deb's certainly taken a shine to Will Graham. She'll have him wrapped around her finger soon enough._ Dexter looked at Hannibal. _And I'll have to keep you on a short leash, Shark Eyes._ As if reading his mind, Hannibal's expression seemed to reply with a cocky, "_Let's see you try_"…

Hannibal

"What an interesting group of people…"

The psychiatrist sat with Will Graham at a beachside food truck as he sipped a peculiar drink of lemon, raspberry and ginger flavour. Simply being a man of experience in the field of flavour, Hannibal had no trouble deciphering what he was drinking. Although, he could not say the same for what he was offered to eat. The so called "taco" looked quite literally like a pile of rubbish. He turned up his nose at the food.

"Since when does a homicide department even need a blood man?" Will mused, a sliver of lettuce falling from the detective's mouth. "We don't have a spatter analyst. Why would you even need one? I mean… It's blood."

Hannibal smiled, amused at Will's disinterest. "Perhaps their others are not as well equipped to deal with the specifics of a kill," Hannibal offered.

"I don't think so. They all seem very apt to handle the huge influx of kills here. Come to think of it… I'm not sure if I am." Will trailed off. Hannibal cocked an eyebrow at the flighty detective. "I heard that there had been four killings within the same city block since we got here. That's nearly what we get in a week, _if_ that."

"And you're concerned about this _influx_?"

Will looked at Hannibal with what he deciphered was apprehension. "To be honest, I don't exactly feel comfortable here, like there's… some kind of danger lurking." Hannibal raised another eyebrow. "I mean something other than the merciless thugs who already roam these smelly streets. There's stronger villains, I think. There always is."  
Hannibal couldn't help acknowledge a tiny paranoid feeling that Will's words were directed at him. He dismissed this thought immediately as he considered his words. "Stronger villains?" Lecter asked, professionalism having never left the office.  
Will took a few moments before answering. All he did was nod briskly, taking another hasty bite of his taco. It seemed as though this part of the conversation was over, at least for the time being. Hannibal tried another bite of his food, and swallowed with a shudder.

Next time, _he_ was picking the food.

It was day one of the Miami Metro exchange program. Hannibal was already up, having already gone through his morning workout and cleaned up and was figuring out what to wear. He supposed Will would just roll out his bed tousle his hair and be done with it. However, Hannibal liked to impress. He settled on a maroon coloured button-down shirt and loose fitting slacks. He wore his pale blue-grey tie and finished it with a blazer slung over his arm. Gathering his temporary badge and other belongings, he dialled Will's room number.  
"Good morning, Will," he started politely as the receiver was picked up, "this is your morning wake up call."

There was a couple moments of deep breaths and the rustling of sheets. Finally, Will answered. "Ah…" was all he said.  
Hannibal offered some more conversation. "We are to be at Miami Metro in an hour, Will. I supposed you would like an early warning."  
Suddenly, the phone was slammed back down on the cradle. Hannibal knew that Will would be flustered now, floundering because he had not heeded his first alarm. The psychiatrist now had a few minutes to himself before Will came pounding at his door. He thought about what he had seen yesterday at Miami Metro. It wasn't that nothing stood out to him - there were several things he knew nothing about, having never actually been out in the field before - it was that he didn't exactly know what to look for amongst all the new elements. Hannibal had scanned the office space thoroughly, taking in all there was. Nothing was familiar.

Save for one thing.

The blood man. Now that Hannibal thought about it, he had pinned something on the spatter analyst, Dexter Morgan, he believed. There was something about him that seemed recognizable. It was the way he introduced himself, the way he levelled Hannibal's gaze. The way he seemed detached from his other colleagues, so like Lecter himself. Perhaps it was just the difference of job, the natural detachment it took to work in an office analyzing for hours on end. Or perhaps it was the joyless expression in his eyes as he feigned a smile.


End file.
